


Counting Stars

by unscriptedemily



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Oneshot, Short & Sweet, Stargazing, again: oh well, idk how to tag this, it's a break from my usual royed stuff so hopefully y'all will appreciate it???, it's very short tho, oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3532583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unscriptedemily/pseuds/unscriptedemily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Where?” he asks, staring through the telescope and, honest to god, he tries to concentrate but he’s so <em>aware</em> of Alfons beside him, smiling. Actually smiling and. Just. God knows how long it’s been since Ed saw him smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting Stars

**Author's Note:**

> A/N- stress relief ficlet :) needed a break from all the schoolwork I haven't done yet... *sigh* but, hey, look! it's a HeiEd instead of the usual royed shizzoodle ^^ this would be because my tumblr dash has been full of CoS recently, and it's been giving me too many feelings. _too many_. also, to everyone who wants to know, the next chapter of CRH will be up soon! just need to iron out a few things and then it'll be posted, hooray ;u;
> 
> ~title shamelessly stolen from the OneRepublic song~

 

It’s as though Ed has woken up from a very long sleep. The world is crystal fucking clear around him; snow is glistening on the windowsill like the shine off of Alfons’ telescope lense and Ed, in his slightly-drunk but not-remotely-fuzzy mind, knows that this is it. Forever.

And he doesn’t even mind.

Kneeling next to him on his bed, Alfons twiddles the dial, breath steaming out as he takes his eye away from the scope,  _grinning_ , and turns to Ed. There is nothing but starlight in his eyes as he says,

“Look- you can see Andromeda, here-,” he takes Ed’s hand, guides him to the telescope and Ed feels his fingertips, always so cold despite his gloves- Ed makes a mental note to buy him new ones; these are fucking shot to hell, and not in a good way- graze his skin and heat rises at his touch.

“Where?” he asks, staring through the telescope and, honest to god, he  _tries_  to concentrate but he’s so  _aware_  of Alfons beside him,  _smiling_. Actually  _smiling_  and. Just. God knows how long it’s been since Ed saw him smile.   
Alfons coughs, brittle and harsh, and Ed reaches round to thump him on the back. It doesn’t stop his smile, the coughing, and see, the thing is, it usually  _does_. Just not tonight.

No, not tonight, not with the moon and the stars and the galaxies and the constellations above him; not with the crinkled astronomy charts and rocket diagrams pinned on the musty walls; not with Ed beside him and the empty beer bottles clustered like a row of soldiers on the floor. No. Not tonight.

 No matter how weary Alfons is at the edges; no matter how much he always just kind of  _is_ , bitter and bruised and nihilistic and all.

His smile doesn’t even  _waver,_ and he drags the back of his hand over his mouth and leans forwards to set Ed straight, pointing the telescope towards what he says, so eager and enthusiastic that Ed wants to fucking  _cry_ , is the Cassiopeia, but what Ed just sees to be a cluster of balls of flaming gas arranged in a shape that vaguely resembles a 'W'. He just keeps  _going_ , despite this whole fucking world and it’s horrible, terrible, sick, twisted people.

Ed loves him for that. He does. God, he  _does_.

Alfons shifts to sit behind him, chest warm and tight against Ed’s shoulder blades; his arms, deceptively wiry under his ridiculous cardigan, draping over Ed’s to fiddle with the dial again and Ed…

Well. In what the fuck kind of way is he supposed to be able to  _hold back_?

He turns his head; Alfons’ face is so  _close_. Moonlight glints off of his eyelashes. His eyes are very blue, and full of the reflected sky.   
Ed leans forwards and kisses him, shifting to face him. Or maybe  _he_  leans forwards and kisses Ed; who knows? Who  _cares_?

His lips are kind of cold, and kind of chapped, and the inside of his mouth is so deliciously warm and he tastes so  _right_ -

 -they kiss artlessly, clumsily, with the sea of stars above them and the sea of snow below.

And even with the constant, tugging, soul-wrenching ache of all that he left behind (Al Al Al Al Al), Ed feels like maybe, just maybe, it’s going to be okay.


End file.
